


phantoms

by arcmartin



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Character Study, Drowning, Gen, Hallucinations, Insane Wilbur Soot, No Beta We Die Like Wilbur in Skyblockle, Paranoia, Temporary Character Death, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27404083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcmartin/pseuds/arcmartin
Summary: despite everyone telling him the same thing for the past few months, it is only now that wilbur realizes he has finally lost his touch in reality.-or: local mad god loses his shit. what else is new?
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 8
Kudos: 103





	phantoms

despite everyone telling him the same thing for the past few months, it is only now that wilbur realizes he has finally lost his touch in reality.

everything around him feels...desolate. it's sort of fitting for a place considered to be a place of neutrality, but at the same time it's too bleak and dreary to be considered the gods’ paradise. the clear night sky and the calm waves of the ocean would make him feel at home if only there weren't any ruined buildings scattered around this measly island. wilbur thinks it's an attempt to make the place look like a cool abandoned pantheon, when in reality it looks like shit. he'd roast dream for his shitty building skills, but that would be hypocritical of him to do so. it's not like pogtopia's caves look any better than this anyway.

wilbur sighs and rolls to the other side, wincing a bit as the warm sand sizzles against his ice cold skin. he had long abandoned his coat and boots to a nearby branch before he flopped down on the shore and wished for the waves to swallow him--and no, he does not  intend to die, he just wants to feel embraced. he hasn't had one ever since he visited phil. apparently nobody wants to hug a stinking madman these days.

he closes his eyes and lets out a soft whimper as a wave washes over him. his mind drifts to thoughts of a home filled with warmth (the kind of fire that sits on oak logs instead of redstone), hugs (ones that don’t hold him back from pressing a button), and a family (people who could look at him in the eye with joy instead of hate). he smiles at the thought of experiencing it again, until another thought hits him like how the next wave crashes against his feet. he then remembers ichor runs in his blood, and it thrums with power and madness that only war could satiate. he’s a god of music and suffering, and it’s this fact that pains him so much, because he always wishes something so fleeting and so sentimental, when it’s supposed to be insignificant to him.

while wilbur was busy grieving over his sentiments, he hears footsteps crunching in the sand, and it stops right in front of him. wilbur opens one eye to see who it is, and the first thing that meets his eye is a pair of hooves. his eyes trail from the familiar feet up to the curled horns on a man’s head, and his face scrunches into that of bitter dismay. the person in question gives him a lopsided grin as he crouches to meet him at eye level.

of all people--of all gods--it just had to be jeremiah fucking schlatt. god of business and calamity. the man who stole his country and tore his son apart from him. 

_ the friend that he used to trust, back when they were still young, human, and stupid. _

“hello, old friend.”

out of instinct, wilbur opens his mouth to greet him back.

“bitch.”

schlatt bursts out a hearty laugh, pissing off wilbur even more. “god, you smell like shit.”

“why the fuck do you think i’m here then?”

the goat bastard raises a brow, “that doesn’t seem like taking a bath to me.”

“what is it to you then.”

“you look like you want to be one with the ocean or some shit.”

wilbur rolls his eyes and turns his head to look up at the sky, “i don’t plan on dying.”

“yeah, it’s not like you can anyway.”

something ticks off inside of wilbur, and he immediately snaps his head to face him. schlatt regrets still making eye contact with him, because the second wilbur stared deep into his soul, something like shock hits him right in the spine and he almost falls backwards. he’s lucky his hooves dig deep in the sand enough to make him firmly stand his ground.

to immediately regain his composure, schlatt sneers at him, “what are you gonna do? strangle me?”

wilbur returns him a bitter smile, “what’s stopping me from doing it you?”

“dream is here. wanna be the next person to get banned?”

wilbur calls it bullshit, so he immediately lunges himself towards him. 

his hands wrap around his neck, and he slams schlatt’s body deep into the water. schlatt’s eyes widened before it could sink into his mind that  _ wilbur is choking the life out of him _ . he thrashes around, wildly kicking his feet and flailing his arms to create large splashes of water as an attempt to distract the tall man. wilbur still remains unmoving and emotionless, his grip on his neck getting tighter. he could hear schlatt’s gurgles get even worse until the man underneath his mercy slowly goes limp. he doesn’t know he has been holding his breath the entire time until he lets go of his body and stares at it floating in the water.

_ finally, some peace and quiet. _

out of courtesy and fear for dream’s wrath (in case the masked god or any of his familiars stumble upon this island to check on them), he drags the unconscious schlatt to the shore and lies down next to him. he predicts the goat would wake up in an hour or two, so he waits for him by humming a familiar tune.

**__________**

and he was right, schlatt wakes up after an hour and a half. the goat man sits up, shivers for a while, and then vomits right onto a dazed wilbur’s face.

“you crazy fuck!” schlatt coughs loudly, “i was being nice for once!”

wilbur wipes his face with his wet shirt and sneers at him, his mood turning sour again, “if you were smart enough, you could have summoned a tornado to sweep me off my feet.”

“and have dream kick my ass for the second time? no thanks, i still want to cherish the country that i have rightfully won, wilbur soot.”

schlatt coughs again, releasing any water left in his system, and then flops to lie down on the sand. he mumbles complaints as he rubs his neck, the phantom pain of wilbur’s icy hands still haunting him. awkward silence stretches between the two of them, and it’s enough to prompt schlatt into talking.

“it’s been a while, seeing you vulnerable like this.” he says, “the last time you went all batshit like this, you haunted a guy named jack. it took you like, what, a year to detach from him?”

wilbur still stays silent, but he sits up and hugs his knees. a wave touches both of their toes, and then it pulls back to the ocean. 

“you hated jack, didn’t you? he did nothing, he just existed, and yet you hated him. for what?”

wilbur grits his teeth. he says nothing.

“he had a friend. what was his name? i can’t remember, probably kyle. you hated him more than jack. you said he stole something from you.” schlatt hums and slightly frowns, “no, no. no mortal could ever steal something from a god--oh! i know now!”

schlatt scrambles to get closer to him, his goat eyes filled with mirth from a revelation he yet has to reveal to his friend. he grins, like a businessman who had successfully closed a deal.

“was it because he has something that you used to have?”

wilbur grabs him by the collar again, and this time, he drowns him longer than the first time.

**__________**

and just like any other god, schlatt resurfaces from the dead.

schlatt cackles loudly, his voice already hoarse from all the drowning and vomiting that wilbur had forced him into. wilbur runs out of breath, his body shakes more than ever, and he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. he’s so cold and stiff that he could probably pass as an iceberg in this ocean. schlatt stumbles into standing up with his hooves, and proceeds to cough more. it’s his third time drowning, and he has to admit that it's also getting tiring to him already. he didn’t eat dinner when he came to this island, but he’s now full from eating all that sand (and the other shit that comes with it) that the madman had shoved down to his throat.

“wilbur, my pretty boy,” schlatt huffs and crouches to lean on his thighs. he gulps for air, and he lets out a laugh, “do you know where i’m getting at?”

wilbur squeezes his eyes shut and falls on the ground on his butt. his eyes are all blurry, he couldn’t focus on anything, and his ears are now filled with ringing. it doesn’t stop him from hearing what the other god would say.

“you can’t simply have human things anymore, wilbur. adopt more children all you want, call them family if you want, laugh and live with them if you want, but at the end of the day, you are nothing more but a god of madness after music, and your promises are always that of blood before family.” schlatt spreads his arms, “you’ve always known this, do you? and yet you still choose to live in that delusion. quite fitting for a mad god, eh?”

despite the speech he’s done for him, he’s only met with silence. The incoming waves to the shore and the wind rustling the trees around him are what fills in the quiet yet tense atmosphere. he stands up to rush at the goat bastard...well, there isn’t really a schlatt for him to choke for the fourth time.

schlatt was never there in the first place, he realizes. no wonder his head hurts so fucking bad, his losing sanity is rapidly intoxicating his mind. wilbur lets out a loud bitter laugh before collapsing on the sand.

illusion or not, he knows schlatt is right. maybe this is why he hates tommy so much right now; he’s mortal, even if techno and phil wish he wasn’t, and he gets to experience what it feels like to love and be loved until the day you die. tommy doesn’t get to constantly feel and suppress the feeling of cold running in his veins, because fire is all that’s in his heart, and it burns so hot and bright when he’s fuelled with either hope or anger. that’s why people are drawn into him like moths to a flame; tommy loves them with a burning passion, which is one thing that wilbur has a hard time doing to whom he considers his family.

being mortal is something wilbur isn’t, and so is being loved.

it takes him a while to feel and differentiate between what’s cold and what’s warm before he considers himself stable again. wilbur curls up in his position and sighs.

he thinks of staying here for a little while longer before he returns to pogtopia.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> -the island they're on is a respawn point for the gods. the closer you are to the island, the faster you respawn. dream doesn't like it to be abused bc it takes up a lot of his energy.  
> -dream, techno, phil, wilbur, and schlatt are gods as mentioned here.
> 
> i had no idea where i was going with this one, all i wanted was more god au and insane wilbur. guess this will be the fic i'm submitting for my lit class.


End file.
